200th Quarter Quell
by Slytherin Buttercat
Summary: The Quell is back, this time taking any family you have with you. (with Harry Potter characters, although not a they-fall-into-another-universe fic). Can they handle the Games?


**Muggle!AU**

 **KatnissNeverHappened!AU**

 **/because crossovers, y'all/**

 **OC's are in the uprising/**

 **Word Count: 2985**

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 **1.**

* * *

 _Families all gathered around the big screen in the middle of each district, waiting for the President to appear. Everyone wanted to know what the next Quarter Quell was, whether they were scared or excited. It was a time for the whole district to get together; well, most of the district, anyway._

 _President Dumbledore appeared on screen, smiling serenely at the camera filming him. "Welcome everyone!" The Capitol crowd clapped their hands, cheering at the man dressed in a bright suit. "I know that you can't wait to hear about the new Quarter Quell, so I won't keep you any longer!"_

 _A small girl walked onto the screen, holding a box in her hands. She had already been tainted by the ways of the Capitol, with bright pink hair and unnaturally shining skin. She handed the box over to President Dumbledore, who smiled at her almost patronisingly before holding the box up for the whole of the audience to see. He slowly opened the box, revealing the envelopes inside that looked yellow with age and slowly stroked them all, before picking up one that was revealed to have the number '200' on it. He opened it almost agonisingly slow, pulling out the paper inside even slower, before opening it and smiling in a satisfied way. "To remind the districts that not even family can help you during war, whoever's name is called will have to bring any eligible family members into the arena with them! Cousins, siblings, anyone related to the tribute that are between the ages of ten and eighteen."_

 _President Dumbledore smiled at them. "Well, doesn't that sound fun! I'm sure you will be hoping your family can be chosen! If someone without any eligible family members is reaped, they will have to nominate someone they know to join them in the arena with their family. The final twist is: no volunteering is allowed!"_

* * *

 _No matter your power or wealth, the Games will get you too._

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood in front of a mirror, combing back his platinum blond hair slowly. He knew it was highly unlikely that he would be chosen, seeing as his name was only in three times, and his little sister Carina had even less of a chance, but that didn't mean he could not look the part. "Draco, Carina, it's time to leave," their mother called up the stairs, her voice shaking slightly.

Draco did not know why she was so afraid, it was highly unlikely one of them was going to be chosen. He walked down with his sister beside him, each of them glancing at each other before looking away. It was well known that Draco and Carina did not get on that well, because Carina thought that Draco was too arrogant and Draco thought Carina was too bossy.

Draco had been trained since a young age just in case he was picked for the Hunger Games, just like every person in District One (and Two and Four) did. The other Districts called them Careers.

"Oh, you both look beautiful!" their mum gushed, kissing each of them on the head. "I love you both so much."

Carina grabbed their mother's hand. "It'll be fine, mum. Trust."

Draco _didn't_ trust her.

"Okay, Carina," their mother said, ruffling his sister's hair. "Your father will be there, but he's on duty today, so don't talk to him."

Draco nodded. "No talking. Got it."

"Not even a _little_?" Carina asked.

"Both you and your father will be shot if you do." Draco winced. "Now, come on. Let's go."

They made the short walk to the centre, where Draco and Carina had to split from each other and their mother after checking in with a drop of their blood. Draco stood next to his friend Gregory Goyle, who had a pale face. "I don't want to do this," Gregory mumbled so only Draco and Vincent Crabbe could hear him.

Draco didn't say anything. Gregory was just a wimp, after all. He was nothing to get himself killed over (and you would be shot if you were found talking at the Reaping).

"Welcome, District One," Mayor Lestrange said, a grin on his face, "to this year's Reaping!"

The crowd cheered for him, something that only happened in Career Districts.

Draco tuned out the rest of the speech and the annual video. He did not know who even watched that monstrosity. All it said was stuff about how the Games were great and how the Capitol was great. It was the same every year.

Afterwards, their Escort walked out, a Capitol person if he had ever seen one. She had bright green hair ( _surely a wig?_ ) that stood out against her dark skin, and long fingernails that looked like claws. "Hello!" she said, smiling, as she walked over to the one big bowl. "This year is certainly interesting!"

She was met with silence. "Okay, moving on. Good luck, everyone!"

More silence, but this time she played it off by placing her hand in the bowl. She spent a while in there before finally pulling out a name. "Caelum Lestrange!"

The Mayor looked like he wanted to protest. A relatively handsome boy ( _or man_ ) who looked to be in his late teens walked almost lazily up to the stage, looking rather smug. "I'm Caelum Lestrange, _obviously_. I'm eighteen."

"And your family?"

The Mayor held his breath. Draco saw Carina send him a worried look from where she stood in the twelve-year-old section, a vaguely familiar girl whispering in her ear.

"Vega Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, Carina Malfoy."

Draco widened his eyes. Caelum Lestrange. Lestrange. Aunt Bellatrix's son. _Oh._

He met Carina on the way up and did not protest when she slipped her hand into his. Vega met with her brother on the stage, her eyes wide but mouth set in a steely frown. "Welcome, you three! So, who are you?"

"I'm Vega Lestrange, twelve years old."

"Carina Malfoy, also twelve."

"Draco Malfoy. I'm fourteen."

 _Fourteen is too young to die._

"Wow, haven't District One got a lot of twelve-year-olds this year!"

District One has never had half this many twelve-year-olds compete before. Because someone had always volunteered before they could.

"Well, may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Draco and Carina were herded off the stage and into a room together. They tried to split them up but Carina wasn't having it. There were two chairs in that room and Draco sank into one of them, the reality of the situation catching up to him and weighing him down. He was going to die. There was no way he was going to survive. How would his sister live otherwise?

Gregory and Vincent walked into the room. "Man, it's gonna be quiet without you," Vincent said.

"Yea, too quiet," Gregory put in.

"You're saying that like he's going to die," Carina said, her voice raising in pitch. "Draco isn't going to die."

Vincent shrugged as the Peacekeeper ushered them out. "Good luck," Gregory called.

"You know, I will miss you," the Peacekeeper said once they had gone, his voice low.

"Dad?" Carina whispered.

"Don't trust Caelum with anything."

And then he was gone, their mother replacing him. She took one look at them and wrapped them in her arms. "My babies. My babies…"

Carina gripped Draco's hand tighter. Blinking back a sudden attack of tears, Draco said, "I'll make sure Carina comes back, Mother. _Trust_."

Their mother smiled weakly, ruffling his hair. "You're a good boy, Draco, but there will be too many of them in that arena. And if Caelum is anything like his mother… well, just stay away."

* * *

 _The power you desire lies within the Games. Seize it._

* * *

Terrence Higgs had always wanted to take part in the Hunger Games. Ever since he saw his first Game, he wanted to win the glory that a Victor got. He wanted the fame. The fortune. Terrence was also the favourite to volunteer for the Games this year. He would have won the right by the Academy, for being the best male.

To find out that volunteering was not allowed this Quarter Quell was disheartening. Even more so when he realised this would be his last ever chance to be in the Games. He deserved this chance more than anyone else in the District. He had wanted to be in the Games for longer than anyone in the District. He had been training since he was a mere eight-year-old. He had always been the best in his age group at the Academy.

Terrence had almost wanted to skip the Reaping, just out of spite. Of course, he didn't actually skip the Reaping, for that would be a death sentence. Terrence did not want to die, thank you very much. He was content with life (even though he couldn't be in the Games).

He seethed quietly in the eighteen-year-old section. There was one big bowl in the middle of the stage, full of the names of every ten to eighteen year old in the District. Even less chance for him to get Reaped. _This was stupid!_

"Welcome, District Two, to this year's Reaping!" The crowd cheered along with the escort. Terrence, however, did not. "Now, we all know this year's twist, so I would not want to keep you waiting any longer. I wish you all luck. May the odds be in _your_ favour."

He placed his luminous green hand (Terrence thought the colour looked stupid on him and he should cut his hands off immediately) in the Reaping bowl, his nails scraping against the edge of the bowl loudly, causing several weak people to cover their ears. He brought out one name and called it out in a clear voice. "Gemma Fawley."

Terrence knew Gemma. She was his age, with a nasty temper and a liking to hurting people. "I'm Gemma, eighteen. I don't have any family in the eligible age gap, so…"

"So, Gemma, who would you like to take in with you?" The Escort grinned at her.

Gemma looked through the crowd, her green eyes resting on Terrence. "I would like to take Terrence Higgs."

He would be in her debt forever _._

 _His baby sister is nine. He has no other family. All is well._

"Well, Terrence, how old are you?" the Escort asked as he walked up the stairs.

"I'm also eighteen."

The Escort almost grinned with delight as he realised he had two strong tributes going into the Games. "Perfect! Do you have any family in the age range?"

"No. I do not."

"Then let's give it up for the Tributes of District Two! Gemma and Terrence!"

The District cheered for them, and Gemma winked at him before grabbing his hand, holding it high.

"Good tactic," he hissed in her ear.

She squeezed his hand tighter, saying, "It's the only thing I could think of that would get us more sponsors. This doesn't mean anything."

To Terrence, it meant there was more chance of him surviving. It might mean that for Gemma as well. Sponsors were one of the vital parts of surviving, for they donated things that you needed to survive.

It meant nothing more. At least, it didn't to him.

* * *

 _Is it really a challenge you want? The Games can give you that._

* * *

Hermione sat at the table, sketching out a design for a new electronic device for the Capitol. Her father trusted her to help him with his designs for his job. She was glad because it helped with the boredom that plagued her mind. Most things were too easy for her, too boring. Hermione needed a challenge.

Her friend Harry was a challenge. He was a hot-tempered orphan who was raised by his aunt and uncle until they abandoned him to move to District Four. It was always _fun_ to calm him down after he lashed out. Did that make her a bad person? She didn't think so. Hermione only desired a challenge.

 _A challenge she wants, so a challenge she will get._

Harry met her outside her house, looking almost smart in an oversized polo shirt and a pair of trousers with only one hole in them. "The Home wanted us to dress well today," Harry said, answering her silent questions.

"That's good," Hermione replied, starting to walk.

She straightened her white dress, careful not to crease it. "What would you do if your name came out of the bowl?" Harry asked her, following her like a loyal puppy (whatever puppies are; Capitol people always gush about them in the few books she has read by the Capitol).

"It's highly improbable that my name will come out," Hermione replied, swinging her arms. "It is only in there four times. There is around three hundred and eighty ten to twelve-year-olds, all who have their name in once, not taking account to tesserae. There's one hundred and thirty thirteen-year-olds with their names in twice, one hundred and twenty fourteen-year-olds with their names in three times, one hundred and twenty-seven people my age with their names in four times (including me), one hundred and forty sixteen-year-olds with their names in five times, one hundred and ten seventeen-year-olds with their names in six times, and one hundred and five eighteen year olds with their names in seven times. That's three thousand, six hundred and three slips without anybody having tesserae, so I would only have a 0.001% chance of being picked out. My sister would only have a 0.002% chance, so I'm highly unlikely to be chosen."

Harry looked as if he had tuned out at the beginning of her maths rant. He realised she had stopped and said, "I don't care how pro—prob— _likely_ it is. I only asked what you would do."

"Well, _obviously_ I would go to the Games. Nothing else I can do."

Harry nudged her, and Hermione grinned at him. Rolling his eyes, Harry asked, "Would you try to win? Make the most of it? Would you kill anyone?"

"Why are you asking this, Harry?"

"Just curious." He shrugged his shoulders. "Can't help to know what the genius would do, can it?"

They had reached the town centre. "See you on the other side," Hermione whispered to Harry, walking over to the Peacekeeper in front of her.

A few long minutes later, the Reaping was fully under way. Hermione never paid attention to the annual video. It was riddled with lies and false assurances. It was _detestable_. Their Escort was covered in blue: all of the hairs on his head seemed to be a different shade of the colour, and his pale blue skin contrasted with his navy suit. He grinned at the crowd, fake as the colour of his lips (turquoise). Hermione despised him. "Welcome to this year's Reaping, District Three!" He expected a cheer but only got stony silence. "Well, on with the Reaping."

He placed his hand in the bowl, swirling the papers around until finding the perfect slip. He took his time drawing it out, grinning down at the name he saw. "Ah." That was not terrifying at all. "Harry Potter!"

Neither was that.

 _Nope_.

Hermione glanced at the messy-haired boy from where the crowd had split in half. He was steadily making his way up the stairs, finding his place next to the Escort easily. "How old are you?" the Escort asked.

Harry grinned bashfully. "I'm fourteen."

"And your relatives?"

"Um, my only eligible relative lives in another District. What does that mean?"

"The relative will have to participate as well, although you will have to do the same as a person without family as well. Isn't _this_ exciting?"

Harry scrunched up his nose, moving his glasses closer to his eyes. "Well, my cousin is Dudley Dursley of District Four." Harry's green eyes scanned the crowd before narrowing behind his glasses. "I guess that I, um, pick Hermione Granger to join the Games with me."

He was so unsure that Hermione felt sorry for him. Almost. She was going to kick his sorry ass when they were alone again, though. Just to show him that she was _very_ displeased with his option.

She gracefully made her way up the stairs to the stage, proud of herself for not shaking or screaming or both. She was cool. She was smart. Intelligent, even. She could win the game. _Yeah, right_.

"Hermione Granger?" the Escort questioned.

 _Obviously not…_ "Yes." Hermione smiled, but it felt forced so she let it slide off her face. "I'm fifteen."

"Any family members?"

"I have an older sister, Emmeline Granger. She's seventeen."

Emmeline was already making her way up the crowd, seeming more prepared than Hermione felt (although Hermione knew that was a ruse because Emmeline was the biggest crybaby she knew). She stood beside Hermione and rested a hand on her shoulder. To everyone else, it looked sentimental and sweet. However, they couldn't feel the sharp nails that were probably piercing her skin. It wasn't _Hermione's_ fault she was the only friend of an orphan boy.

The Reaping ended rather abruptly, and they were all led into the Justice Building to say their (sentimental) goodbyes. Hermione's mother was sobbing on Emmeline's shoulder, crying about losing her baby or something as dramatic. Hermione's father stood in front of Hermione, sizing her up. "You finished the draft?" he asked.

No goodbye, nor hello. It was always about work with him. That's why Hermione liked him so much. "Yes. You'll find it in the safe."

"Good. I'll miss that brain of yours. Try to bring it back."

It would sound cruel to anyone else but Hermione was swelling with pride. That was a big compliment for a man like him to say, and he said it to _her_ and not her sister like everyone else in the family would have. Hermione glanced back at her sobbing mother before beaming up at her father. He ruffled her bushy hair affectionately. "I will," she promised.

* * *

 **Character run-down:**

 **District One: Caelum Lestrange (18), Vega Lestrange (12), Carina Malfoy (12), Draco Malfoy (14)**

 **District Two: Gemma Fawley (18), Terrence Higgs (18)**

 **District Three: Harry Potter (14), Hermione Granger (15), Emmeline Granger (17)**

 **Only four oc's in this chapter (exc. Escorts) but there will be more to come.**

 **I'm not sure if I like this chapter or hate it... Oh well.**

 **If you want to, comment thoughts! Which do you like? Who do you hate? Why am I doing this?**

 **~Buttercat**


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